Oh, Carlo had very well understood what that man said, as he also did that language of the fingers, this much-used language of the Romans and Neapolitans.
The man had said: “She is here, that beautiful lady! She can no longer escape us!”
“You will strike her?” had Corilla asked.
The man had swung the dagger over his head and held up two fingers of his right hand. That signified: “In two hours she will be dead.”
“Good! you shall be satisfied with me,” had been Corilla’s answer.
The door was again closed. Corilla turned smiling to Carlo, her former rancor seemed to have vanished; she was in high spirits.
“Carlo,” said she, “how good you are not to leave me! Let us now begin. I feel myself glowing with inspiration. Ah, I shall enrapture these good Romans, I think!”
“How long will this improvisation last?” Carlo gruffly asked.
“Well, one or two hours, according to the delight we give our public.”
“If this farce continues longer than an hour and a half, I shall throw down my harp and go away,” said Carlo, in a tone of severity. “I swear it to you by the spirit of my mother! Remember it; I shall show you the time every quarter of an hour.”